


What Was Lost Is Found

by Kaerith



Series: Witcher Prompt One-Shots [7]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Trial Of The Grasses (The Witcher), Witcher Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:41:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24254533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaerith/pseuds/Kaerith
Summary: The world is changing: more monsters and fewer witchers. Vesemir has found texts about making new witchers but he doesn’t know if he has it in him to put children through it. His theoretical ideas about turning an adult into a witcher become more urgent once he meets Jaskier, now Julian, who has lost his music and is facing death by illness.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Lambert, Jaskier | Dandelion & Vesemir, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Witcher Prompt One-Shots [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1791685
Comments: 50
Kudos: 472
Collections: Interesting Character and/or Interesting Relationship Development, Witcher Kink Meme (Dreamwidth)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the kink meme prompt: [What was lost is found -Jaskier-centric](https://witcherkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/429.html?thread=424621#cmt424621), which means that I had both a good plot and title ready made.
> 
> I did tag "Hurt/Comfort" though I don't go much into details about the Trial of the Grasses. If you feel that doesn't fit, or that this fic needs different/more tags or warnings, please let me know.

"A familiar face," a familiar voice said, and Jaskier looked up from his ale. 

"Vesemir!" It was a struggle to smile, but he was genuinely pleased to see the old witcher. "Do you have time to sit and have a drink with me?" 

"I do," the witcher said. He circled the table and sat on the opposite bench. "Just spending some time off of the mountain. It does me good to circulate among people, and I will often pick up an easy contract or two just to keep my skills sharp." 

"From what I hear, you can still outmatch all three of your former pupils," Jaskier said. 

"There's a difference to fighting one's allies as opposed to beasts or enemies," Vesemir said. 

"Just as full of wisdom as ever," Jaskier said, taking a drink.  
Vesemir nodded. "But it seems that you are empty of your usual cheer and music. What has happened?" 

"A lot. A couple years ago your white wolf finally chased me off." He waved away Vesemir's concern as he saw the man's forehead begin to wrinkle. "I knew it was going to happen eventually, but he certainly was in a bad mood when he did it. So, yeah, almost twenty years of friendship blown away in a moment of Geralt's foul wind. Went back to Oxenfurt for awhile. You notice my voice is different? Had to stop singing because vocal cord paralysis. Seems I have a wasting disease, something to do with increasing nerve damage. I'm on my way to Ban Ard, to see if the mages there might have any thoughts on preventing more damage. 

"But you, old wolf-- still look the same! I'm pleased to see you're still kicking around. What have you been doing to keep yourself busy lately up alone in the castle?" 

Vesemir was saddened to see how mortality was wearing down the formerly irrepressible bard, but wasn't going to linger on the topic when Jaskier was trying to brush past it. "Trying to find a way to stop the inevitable passage of time. I've been a bit obsessed with the changes our world is going through." 

"What changes in particular?" Jaskier asked, truly interested. 

"New monsters. More monsters. Monsters we had thought to be extinct returning." 

"How can you change that?" 

"Don't think I can. Set my mind on a different problem: witchers. Since all the pogroms that attacked the various schools, the Cats are the only ones making new witchers-- and their success varies wildly. Not to mention their students' ethics. I managed to find all the instructions needed to recreate the mutations process." Vesemir noticed that Jaskier looked upset at that statement. The human didn't quash his reaction. 

"You can't be thinking of gathering up boys and doing the old Trials again?! I would like to believe that this is a more enlightened time, and we have moved past sacrificing children for the slim odds of success at creating witchers!" The man didn't apologize or soften the blow of his harsh opinion. He had always let Vesemir know that he found the selection process for witchers distasteful. 

Vesemir made a calming gesture. "Don't have any plans to do anything. Just got me to thinking: what if we could find a way to introduce the mutagens to young men? People old enough to choose our way of life while knowing the risks? I'm not sure many would volunteer if it was possible, but if someone could adapt the process and it worked on just a handful of individuals, we'd all have a better chance of holding back or even preventing a tide of monsters from destroying our societies." 

Jaskier had lost his outrage, and was more thoughtful. "A good solution. But how possible is it?" 

"I've consulted with Yennefer and Triss, and Geralt did some digging on some old research by an alchemist from down south. We all think there's a small chance of success." 

"So you just need a volunteer. If I were in better health I would offer." 

Vesemir was surprised. "Why would you be so willing? You have read the accounts of the horror of the Trials." 

Jaskier shrugged. "I'm getting old. I've lost the ability to physically do my chosen profession. The doctors and mages have all determined that my death will be upon me within a few years and no known magic can prevent it. I've just been meandering slowly east to Ban Ard because I wanted to relive my memories of my youth. Those mages there won't be able to fix anything; it's just an excuse so I have a destination." 

Vesemir leaned back and crossed his arms. "Has life chewed you up so bad in a decade, boy? Last time we saw each other you were still prancing about in motley and singing about nonsense." 

Jaskier laughed with only a tinge of bitterness. "A decade is a long time if you're not a witcher or a mage or an elf. Life's not only chewed me up, but it's shat me out as a broken and lonely man." 

Vesemir finally let some of his sympathy show in his face. "You should come up to Kaer Morhen, son. Die in a place you were once able to call home." 

Jaskier wiped away tears at the old man's kindness. "My end is not going to be quick. I wouldn't dream of leaving you in a position to feed me and keep me clean when I'm stuck in a bed drooling." 

The witcher put one of his callused hands over Jaskier's. "I've done those duties for hundreds of boys who died before they could live. It would be an honor to be able to do them once for a friend who is leaving behind a legacy of changing the world for the better in his own way."

* * *

Vesemir had expected Jaskier to have more difficulty making it to Kaer Morhen than he did. "Seem strong as ever to me, son. Why can't you be a bard? Only thing I see that's different is your voice." 

Jaskier didn't look at him when he answered, "The disease starts with the small muscles. I'm still able to walk but I can't control my fingers enough to play an instrument. It's impossible for me to write on bad days." 

"Well, don't expect that excuse to get you out doing work. If you still have a strong back and two legs there's plenty that I would appreciate your help with." 

Jaskier was actually comforted by the promise to be worked to his physical limits. There were winters when he wished that he could hide from the old man's insistence that he "pull his weight." He supposed that he had just felt useless for so long. His mood was light enough that he could even joke. "Fate is getting her revenge: I have to give up a cushy life as a bard for retirement as a plowhorse." 

Vesemir did work him hard over the next handful of months. When the cold weather began to set in, Jaskier was unable to spend as much time outside. The witcher had a strong belief that physical activity would delay Jaskier's decline, so the former bard was surprised when the man demanded that Jaskier learn how to use a sword. He was even more surprised when the experienced instructor declared him as naturally gifted.  


Triss portalled in to check on Vesemir and was pleased to see Jaskier. The three of them tackled the ideas Vesemir had noted down regarding the mutation Trials process (Jaskier was of little to no help), and Triss said she would contact Yennefer about it. 

Yennefer herself came not long after, and she and Vesemir holed up in an ancient laboratory for several days. When they finally emerged they seemed invigorated. When Jaskier asked how their work was going he expected the "it's only theoretical, just a thought experiment" argument from Vesemir, but Yennefer said "I would be willing to start a human trial right now." 

"You are being hasty," Vesemir disagreed. 

"Fine. I would be willing to do a human trial on a prisoner otherwise sentenced to execution," Yennerfer amended, and the three of them were world-weary enough to all find that funny.

* * *

As his hands began to be less and less trustworthy, Jaskier got the feeling that the old witcher was trying to hurry his research along. He felt warmth for the man, and wished that what Vesemir was hoping to achieve was an actual antidote for Jaskier's mortality. The former bard didn't expect any miracles, and was trying to be content with having company and assistance and a safe place to stay. He was virtually penniless, so he had resigned himself to getting kicked out of a boarding house one day and left to die freezing in a gutter. Ending his days at Kaer Morhen was more than he had expected, though he did wish it wasn't so lonely. It was just a pity that the higher number of monsters and contracts was keeping the other wolves away from home.

* * *

Yennefer was the one who came and offered him the chance to try the adapted Trial of the Grasses decoction. 

"Don't think this is some soft-hearted attempt to rescue you, bard. You're just here, lying about useless, and if you don't agree now you'll soon be too weak to attempt it." 

Jaskier laughed. "You're still a cold bitch. What would be in it for me, besides excruciating pain and death?" 

"The chance to help us perfect a formula that might make this crazy idea work," she said. 

He made a face. "I've always been a man of art, not science." 

"A quicker death than what you're facing now," she said. "Possibly with a similar level of pain, just a shorter time to endure it." 

He looked at Triss. If she was there, they must have some hope for success. "It will not be pleasant," she said, "But I believe you have a pretty good shot at pulling through. If it works you'll be a witcher: mutations, but no fatal illness." 

Jaskier but his lip. "If I do it, promise me someone will hold my hand the entire time." 

Yennefer rolled her eyes. "I suppose I can volunteer."

* * *

Jaskier was surprised to find himself alive once the agony ended. "Do I have the eyes?" Was the first question he managed to croak from his dry mouth. 

Lovely, wonderful Triss brought him both a mirror and a glass of water. "They are greener than I expected," she said.

* * *

Lambert arrived when Vesemir was trying to perfect the newly-made witcher's combat skills. He literally dropped his jaw when the former bard turned around and he saw his face and changed eyes. 

"What the fuck? _Jaskier??_ " 

"I prefer to be called Julian now." 

With Lambert there to help with his training with swords and signs, Julian was given the rating of "passable" by Vesemir after three more months of intensive work. Lambert kept complaining that winter was supposed to be a vacation, but Julian found immense glee in being able to pick the witcher up and throw him into snow drifts. 

He was finding a lot of benefits to being a mutated former-human.

* * *

Jaskier went out on the Path for the first time with Lambert. Lambert was inconsistent with his gripes; he would complain one day that Julian was likely to get them both killed, and then bellyache the next day at being "saddled with a baby witcher" when no one had ever mentored Lambert in his first years. 

Julian learned the deep hurt of being ostracized upon first glance, and traveling with Geralt for so long hadn't been able to prepare him for the self-loathing that hung over his head despite his otherwise stable self-esteem. It was hard to cling to the belief that you were still a person when half of the people you encountered seemed intent on proving the opposite. 

"It's still so much better than it used to be, before you came along and helped our reputation," Lambert said. 

Julian had wondered if he would be able to cry after the Trial. He was. 

Lambert seemed leery of that fact. "How can you be a witcher and be just as much of a emotional mess? I guess you were right all along about our messed-up childhoods fucking us up and not the mutagens." 

His body became less of a miracle as he lived in it. Julian had been in awe of his strength and speed and stamina, but he now knew the downsides: the side effects of the potions, how meditation was never a replacement for sleep during days of insomnia, the way humans seemed to wallow in their own stench. His nerves were often strained as his senses were frequently overstimulated. Lambert's reaction to the unrelenting assault of sounds and smells was to be an asshole, but Julian tended to hide away in a quiet spot, cover his eyes, and focus on his breathing. 

The day came when Lambert decided he was good enough to be on his own. "Keep yourself alive for two months then get your ass back to the mountains. You could have done that as a bard." 

Julian didn't feel ready, but Lambert and Vesemir had assured him that he had a leg up on the usual newly-minted witchers with almost two decades of experience with Geralt dealing with contracts and learning about different monsters.

* * *

He earned his first true witcher scar fighting a fiend. It was only a graze across his ribs, but he was too proud of that milestone to suture it so it would heal smoother. 

Julian kept his hair cropped close to his head. He was too finicky about his personal hygiene to want to collect entrails in his hair like some other witchers he had known. He kept himself looking as nice as he could, and made an effort to be polite and kind when he was among people. He was pretty sure his warm and gregarious personality was luring more people into the pro-witcher camp. 

He purchased a sturdy gambeson made of blue wool. (The color no longer matched his eyes, but he wasn't going to stick with black like 3 of the 4 other wolves.) He bought some thick white thread and planned to do his best to embroider some simple flowers as a decorative trim if Vesemir gave him enough free time in the winter. 

He had been using a silver sword from Kaer Morhen's armory, but he found a lovely two-handed sword in Rinde which named Cierń as a nostalgic reference to the first thorn in his side he had picked up in the city. He liked to think his new weapon was even sharper than Yennefer's tongue. 

Julian had armored plate to strap over his gambeson when he expected a fight. He also had a short black cape with a hood that he wore under the dark iron plate, and a cloth he dampened with scented oil and tied over the lower half of his face when he went after a monster in its lair. It may have been a vain thing to do in comparison to Geralt and Lambert who seemed to revel in being splashed with foul fluids and viscera, but Julian wanted to protect his clothing and skin. He also thought he looked rather mysterious as a dark-hooded warrior with only his eyes exposed. 

This is the figure Geralt met.

* * *

After four winters away Geralt was finally making the sojourn to Kaer Morhen. He wasn't expecting a pleasant reunion; Yennefer had told him that she and Vesemir had managed to make a new witcher. He was full of mixed feelings: anger at them for inflicting the torture of the Trials on someone, relief that if more witchers were made he could get a break, curiosity as to who this new brother would be. 

Yennefer had said that they found a volunteer, a man with an incurable illness who was rude and narcissistic and who craved fame. 

"Sounds like a horrible choice," Geralt had told her. "If this is the type of volunteer witcher we are going to get, we will soon be just as notorious as the Cat School!" 

She just smirked at his ire and said that despite these traits the new recruit was brave and would be loyal and loved Vesemir like a father. "I'm sure you both will get along," she predicted. "It will be a rough introduction, but I know you two will have a lot in common as well as a wealth of shared experiences." 

Geralt heard rumors that the new Wolf Witcher was close by when he reached southern Kaedwen. He tracked the man down to the cave where he had been contracted to deal with a troll, and waited outside. He could hear the man's husky voice engaging the troll in a conversation, and was pleasantly surprised that the witcher was trying to convince the monster to leave the area. Then there was the sound of a boulder shattering and a gruff "Bad move," by the former human, then the clash of sword against rock. Geralt settled down to meditate because he figured the duel would last a while, but the new witcher emerged much sooner than he expected. 

For the fame-hungry man that Yennefer had told Geralt about, the witcher was so covered up as to be anonymous except for his exposed yellow-green eyes. He wore plain plate over plain padded trousers and jacket, with a hood and scarf obscuring most of his features. Geralt was pleased to see the man startle as he left the cave and saw Geralt waiting. 

"The White Wolf," the witcher said in a cheerful rasp. "Come to meet your newest brother?" He pulled down his hood to reveal his short brown hair but didn't remove the cloth over his nose and mouth and dropped to sit on a rock and tend to his silver blade. "She's not going to last long whacking against elementals," he said mournfully. "I'm not too good with my signs, yet. Axii came naturally, but my others are pretty weak. Hopefully I can get some tips from you or Eskel." 

Hearing Eskel's name dropped so casually from this interloping stranger made Geralt mad. "Who the hell are you?" 

The witcher's eyes widened. He used a gloved hand to pull out his wolf medallion. "Julian. Baby witcher," he added with crinkles of self-deprecating humor around his eyes. "That's what Lambert calls me, anyway. 43 years old by human reckoning, but just over one as a witcher. It was a long recovery before I could start the physical training. I'm lucky Vesemir thought I was good with a sword before the mutations." 

Geralt didn't like how talkative the stranger was. He had divulged his weaknesses in his first conversation with another, vastly more experienced witcher. "Yennefer told me all about you," he said. "I'll be surprised if you made it through next season." 

Instead of insulted, Julian looked amused. "I doubt that the sorceress told you _all_ about me," he said archly, which made Geralt furious at the implication. The man only chuckled and added, "No need to be jealous; we only held hands. And I couldn't enjoy it because that was only when they did their experimental Trial of the Grasses." 

Geralt was satisfied to see the levity leave what he could see of the man's expression at that reminder. He didn't often enjoy seeing others' pain, but he was relieved that the man's transition wasn't easy nor pleasant: the last thing that the witchers guild needed was an influx of humans who didn't take their trade's onus of responsibility seriously. 

He was ready to leave. He got to his feet and turned to walk back to where Roach was waiting. 

"You don't want to travel together?" The new witcher called out. The unexpected humor in his voice grew to a fit of laughter. "That man will never change," Geralt heard, and he frowned and shrugged the comment off. Everyone had some opinion of the White Wolf since Jaskier's campaign for his reputation years ago. If he had ever met the man he didn't remember the distinctive raspy voice. 

Geralt figured any mysteries would be unravelled during the winter in a couple of weeks.

* * *

Vesemir had expected Geralt to be furious, but did not expect his rant to focus on the danger of letting random asshole humans join their ranks. 

"I thought you said you two met," he asked suspiciously, with his arms crossed as he patiently waited for his student to calm down. 

"We did. Yennefer had told me about him, and meeting him didn't improve my opinion at all." 

"Oh, _Yennefer,_ " Vesemir said, only infuriating Geralt more with how that put a tiny smirk on the aged witcher's face. "Well, I guess we should expect her to be here soon to watch the fireworks." 

Geralt didn't know what that meant, but Yennefer did arrive the next day, walking into the great hall while Geralt, Lambert, and Vesemir were eating supper. "Good evening, gentlemen." 

Two of the men just grunted, but Geralt greeted her with "Yen," then followed it up with, "What are you doing here?" 

"Just here for my surprise. You almost ruined it, you know," she said chidingly to Geralt. 

By their sniggers, the two other witchers knew what she was talking about. Geralt hated that he was apparently a source of amusement for them. "What they hell is this about? You expecting me to kill him or something?" 

"Or something. Considering your shared history," the sorceress said. 

"I met him. Didn't recognize him." 

"He covered his face, right?" Lambert guessed. "The bastard is so dainty that he likes to tie a perfumed handkerchief to try to avoid the bad smells." 

"Dainty?" Vesemir snorted. "He took pride in loudly emitting the foulest odors and blaming them on my cooking. Little shit," he added fondly. "But I suppose he did have a hard time adjusting to his enhanced senses. How'd he hold up with that on the Path, Lambert?" 

Lambert grimaced sympathetically, which was unexpected by everyone. "Needed time in the quiet with his eyes closed. Sometimes for hours. That was what I was most worried about when I had to leave him alone." 

Geralt had missed a lot. They had obviously changed everything about training a witcher now that it happened to be a sole adult who had gone through the Trials. 

"I can make a potion to dull the senses, if you think it would help," Yen offered, looking at Vesemir. 

Vesemir shook his head. "I'm not sure that would help him in the long run. It is something he should learn to handle as quickly as he can. It's a weakness." 

Geralt wanted to be able to contribute to the discussion. "Not his only weakness. He talks too much. Told me his signs are weak. Less than two minutes of knowing me, and he blurted that out." 

"Yup, he didn't change a whole lot, did he? Babbles like a brook, and still fucking cries at a sad song," Lambert said. "Speaking of, I got something I wanna give him on Welcoming Day." 

Geralt was shocked when Vesemir nodded. "You're going to give him a gift on Welcoming Day?" Geralt said. "We are still going to _do_ Welcoming Day?" 

"It's a tradition," Vesemir said. "He's coming home after his first season on the Path, even though it was short and he spent more than half of it with Lambert." 

Lambert, also, got confrontational. "We can change the way we do things. Have a Welcoming Day with all of us and give him a gift. He's family. Oh," he added suddenly, "You don't-- you don't really know him," Lambert finished, though Geralt knew that wasn't how he had intended to end that statement. 

"Eskel should be here tomorrow, and Julian the day after," Yennefer said. "So if you need to prepare for your ritual you should have time."

* * *

There were six of them waiting at the gate for Julian's Welcoming Day, as Eskel and Triss had both arrived. Geralt was bemused by how eager they were to see the new witcher arrive home, but supposed that Vesemir, the sorceresses, and Lambert had had time to get attached. They all seemed fond of Julian, though Geralt had not been able to sense why they would when he had met him. 

Lambert spotted him first and yelled at everyone to convene. He had a leather sack with his gift in it, but was uncharacteristically nervous about whether Julian would take it well. Geralt couldn't hear their whole conversation, but Vesemir appeared to be reassuring Lambert that it was a good idea. 

Welcoming Day was simple: New witchers returned from their first season on the Path on a specific day, and all of Kaer Morhen welcomed them home. It tended to be emotional, because the few that managed to return tended to be ravaged by the alienation and hardships witchers encountered in the outside world. It was more than just congratulations and welcome; it used to be a huge knot of brothers reassuring each other of their connection and individual importance through touch. Kind touch was something that was rarely experienced outside of Kaer Morhen. 

Geralt was conflicted by how Yen and Triss seemed to be allowed to be a part of the tradition. They didn't have the understanding that the witchers did of its meaning. He was also upset by the lack of the large number of witchers that the last Welcoming Day had. Their last one had been before Kaer Morhen had been attacked and the trainees slaughtered, and this was a harrowing reminder of how their School had suffered. 

So it was a bittersweet moment to stand at the gate, one of only six people, and see the sight of a new witcher coming home for the first time. 

Lambert rushed ahead and pulled out his gift from the bag. A lute? Julian took it with a reverent hesitation that Geralt could see even at this distance. He wiped his face and the gesture was familiar. Recognition made hope and fear run through his body like ice water. 

"Is that...?" 

"Yes," Yennefer said, smugly. 

"You thought I would work my ass off to do a dangerous new procedure on a stranger? I rushed through what I had thought would be another twenty years of research," Vesemir said. "The kid is family, and he was close to dying." 

Geralt was stunned, and his eyes strained to pick out familiar features as Julian-- _Jaskier_ \-- approached with Lambert's arm over his shoulders and he turned the lute over in his hands. 

"...like a part of me died when I couldn't play anymore." Julian was saying as he came into witcher earshot. "My voice was gone and then the rest of the music. It was still in my head but I knew I would never be able to let it out. I couldn't use the name Jaskier anymore." 

"Well, you still can't be a full-time bard," Lambert admonished. "But I suppose if you want to be the world's first witcher bard you can. Still have to kill monsters, though. That's why I helped you. I deserve a vacation." 

Julian handed the instrument carefully to Lambert so he could run and embrace Vesemir. "I killed nekkers, and drowners, and a fiend, and had to kill a troll because the idiot refused to move--" 

"Good job. Welcome home," the old man said. 

"Eskel," Julian said when he finally pulled away from Vesemir and reached for him next. "Is it a surprise?" 

"Lambert told me," Eskel ruffled Julian's hair like he habitually had, but it was too short to get messy and make the brunette frown and try to fix it like Jaskier used to. "I'm very grateful you're with us." 

Julian was crying, unashamed. "It was all horrible! I was so alone, and everything's different," he snuffled into Eskel's shoulder. He finally pulled away and wiped his face. "I mean, still better than being dead, but it's gonna take a lot of time to get used to all of this." 

Triss took him in her arms next. "I haven't gotten used to how big you are," she said. 

"I'm still taller than you," Yennefer said, taking her turn. 

"That only 'coz of your shoes," Julian teased. "You bitch," he said, pulling away and poking her sternum above her breasts. "You didn't tell him anything!" The flick of his eyes to Geralt indicated who he meant. 

"I wanted to watch the drama unfold. Geralt nearly ruined it by finding you early." She shoved Julian away fondly, but he hardly budged with his new muscles. 

Despite the yellow eyes, the broader body, the shorter hair and the changed voice, Geralt could recognize his old friend easily. He was older, and lines of pain had etched themselves into his face, and Geralt had a sense of guilt for being a part of that. 

Julian stood more than a pace away, which hurt Geralt after his enthusiasm to embrace all the others. 

"I owe you an apology. I was harsh and unfair to you on that mountain, and you didn't deserve a word of it. I regretted it once I calmed down, and always hoped that you returned to a life that made you happy. I'm sorry things turned out so badly for you." 

Julian ran his hand over his head in an ingrained gesture of discomfort that Geralt recognized. "I'm thinking things didn't turn out so bad for me after all," he said, with a small gesture that indicated their gathering. "Are you welcoming your newest brother?" 

Geralt opened his arms and stepped up to embrace Julian. "Yes. Welcome home."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first winter back at Kaer Morhen and Julian's first season alone on the Path.

_When Jaksier saw Kaer Morhen for the first time he was overcome with a sad sort of awe. Firstly because the castle must have been magnificent at one point in time, but was now practically a ruin of collapsing walls with overgrown vines and grass as if nature was trying to erase the School of the Wolf and its long history. Secondly because the surrounding valley and mountains had a harsh, unspoiled beauty that meant that there would be few luxuries available to give the occupants comfort. And thirdly because it symbolized what Geralt was inside: a stalwart fortress that might be crumbling but still considered itself to be something to hold the world out._

_  
_

There were indeed few comforts in the cold castle, but Jaskier had been surprised by the warmth of the occupants. He had met Lambert once before, but there were also Eskel and Coën and Vesemir. Coën had been trained by the Griffin School and seemed to be welcomed like a brother without the wariness that Geralt afforded Cats and Vipers.

_Vesemir was the person Jaskier had most wanted to impress because Geralt obviously held the old man in the highest regard. The man was over three-hundred years old, and Jaskier had no idea how he could even hope to impress someone who had seen so much of life and the world. He had tried to maintain a sober and respectful attitude around the old man, however contrary it was to his nature. The younger witchers made fun of him for it, but only when they were sure Vesemir was well out of hearing range._

Now, at the end of his first season as a witcher out on the Path and in the world, the spires of Kaer Morhen signalled home and refuge. Julian almost cried, but he swallowed the emotion down because he was on a deadline: Vesemir had told him to return on a certain day. He didn't have time to break down and spend an hour or two wallowing in the relief of his return and the disappointment and loneliness he had experienced in the last few months.

He had time to think as he plodded along up the steep barely-there trail. They called it "the Killer," and Julian could almost hear echoes of Jaskier's whining at some of the trickier bits. Now he didn't even have to take the handful of detours that Roach had been required to make; Julian was able to scramble up a couple bare stone faces instead of switch-backing up the steep inclines.

He had died and been reborn at Kaer Morhen, like thousands of others. But unlike them, he had already lived a lifetime and left a legacy and had _chosen_ to roll the dice. He considered the old castle a home, and had none of the connotations of a prison or slaughterhouse that Lambert and probably other witchers had held. He was fortunate to have a kind history with the people there.

Lambert's confession of his grievances against the School had made the history of the place a terrible thing, shedding all the nobility that Jaskier had bestowed upon it rightfully or in ignorance. Julian didn't feel any guilt or shame at how he had been made, but he wondered if Geralt or Eskel held a similar hurting grudge against Kaer Morhen. He knew that Vesemir's scars of the Wolf School's traumatic past held more guilt and sorrow than anger.

Julian also wondered who would be there to greet him. Vesemir, yes, and probably Geralt. (It had been fun to bait Geralt, but he did have a knot of fear as to how his estranged friend was going to treat him once he knew Julian's true identity.)

Once he reached the high-up valley and was walking along the Gwenllech River again, he could feel his knees tremble with relief. He was going to cry, he just knew it. He started to feel weak for being the first witcher who would collapse at Vesemir's feet and bawl his eyes out-- how mortifying!-- but then Julian thought about how stunted Geralt and even Eskel and Lambert were, and decided to be proud about maintaining his emotional vulnerability. Though Julian was pretty sure the proud feeling would happen before and after the moment but not in the midst of making an utter arse of himself.

As soon as he saw the gate he could see a figure rushing through. He had a moment to worry that it was Geralt about to kill him before he recognized Lambert.

Lambert ran at him and hit Julian like a tidal wave. "Hey, brother!"

Julian clutched him back, his vision already blurring and found it hard to husk out anything more than Lambert's name.

After a few moments Lambert pulled away. "Picked up a present for ya." He pulled a lute from a sack and held it to Julian.

The instrument felt light and fragile now that Julian was more accustomed to the weight of swords. But it wasn't alien. With Lambert's arm slung over his shoulders, the gift felt like a different homecoming than Julian had been expecting. Tears fell, but for once Lambert didn't mock him for crying. He bumped their heads together and said, "I hope it's a good gift. I mean, I don't know shit about instruments, but-"

Julian elbowed him. "Shut up. It's good. I just... it's hard to believe that I can play one again."

As they approached the gate, Lambert was convincing Julian that he should continue performing as the first "witcher bard." It was a possibility that Julian hadn't imagined; he had thought that his illness and new career meant that his life of music was over, but he could imagine that door being opened again.

Julian looked up and saw the creased and warm face of Vesemir and had to hand the lute to Lambert so that he could go to him and reassure the man that he was trying to live up to the responsibility the old witcher had given him. Vesemir's simple "Good job. Welcome home," made Julian fill up with relief and pride.

Eskel was there, too, his craggy face softened with affection, Julian thought. "Surprise?"

Eskel tried to mess Julian's hair like he used to but it was too short. "I'm grateful you're still with us." Julian was happy to be pulled in for a rare embrace from the witcher. While they had shared a lot of conversations about history and literature, he was the Wolf who was most uncomfortable with physical affection-- and that was saying something, considering Geralt. Getting a hug from Eskel made Julian's resolve to keep his composure falter, and he found himself letting the worst of the last season gush out of him. When he stepped back and pulled himself together he tried to negate his complaining. "Still better than being dead. It's just a lot to get used to." He didn't want to upset Vesemir with his whining.

Triss pressed in for a hug next, then Yennefer. He had to give her a bit of a hard time about how she had apparently met up with Geralt but had decided to keep his identity a secret. She admitted that she wanted to be here to see Geralt's reaction.

Geralt was the last one Julian faced. His face held its usual plaster-cast expression of frosty detachment, but there was something going on behind his eyes. Julian didn't want to get too close, considering their last parting.

Then, a miracle happened. Geralt _apologised_ , adding something about how he had thought Jaskier had gone on to have a happy life. Julian didn't have time to get angry at that tone-deaf comment that just ignored whether or not Geralt had ever realized what he had destroyed, because the White Wolf melted enough to show his true remorse as he finally added, "I'm sorry things turned out so badly for you."

The apology wasn't what Jaskier (or even Julian, with time having dulled some of his hurt) thought he deserved, but this was much more than he had expected to get. It was a weird moment, but he looked back at the others who were there to support him. "I don't think things turned out so bad," he said. Geralt's relief at not having his apology immediately rejected crossed his face almost too quickly for Julian to catch, and his face settled into one of relief.

"So," he said, thinking back to their exchange only a couple weeks ago. "Are you welcoming your newest brother?"

"Yes. Welcome home." Geralt actually initiated a hug, and Julian leaned into it. They had probably done this a handful of times before, but it had always been Jaskier practically bending himself around the stiff and unresponsive witcher like a garland of flowers around a sturdy and utilitarian maypole. This time Geralt actually bent into the gesture. It felt nice, and Julian had to remind himself it was too little effort too late. It wasn't hard; he had moved on from his ill-fated infatuation.

* * *

It was almost like the old days, Geralt thought; he and Lambert and Eskel getting drunk while Jaskier plucked at his lute. There were too many changes to make Geralt feel comfortable, though. Julian looked entirely different from Jaskier; with only the shape of his face and his hair color unchanged, he could have passed for the young Jaskier's father. Julian hadn't gotten _old_ , but he had the signs of forty years on his face. He may have been the same height, but his musculature and posture were different and showcased his martial training to Geralt's experienced eye. He was a man who obviously was meant to carry swords on his back now instead of a musical instrument.

Where Jaskier had been all energy and theatrical flair, Julian moved economically and sparingly without fidgeting or making extraneous gestures. Even when he fiddled with the lute now, his movements showed that the fluency and familiarity of his fingers had been lost.

But his voice. The loss of his singing voice had unexpectedly gutted Geralt. When his brothers encouraged Julian to sing an old favorite, there was nothing left of the spark or trills Jaskier used to put into "Toss A Coin." Even Julian had sensed it, had stopped partway through the song, and had set the lute down and excused himself from the room.

"Fuck, I knew it was a bad gift," Lambert said, looking defeated.

"We just can't expect him to be the same. I think he'll adjust, though it may take some time," Eskel said.

"Why does he sound so different?" Geralt asked.

"He had some sort of disease that damaged his nerves. The first damage was to his vocal cords, he said," Lambert told them. "By the time he ran into Vesemir he wasn't able to play any of the instruments he used to, either."

Imagining the depth of unhappiness Jaskier must have been in hit Geralt hard. He had regretted his cruel words and how he ended their friendship, but he had just imagined that Jaskier had resumed his bard career and enjoyed fame and a buffet of lovers while living in luxury in one court or another.

He stood up, but Eskel pulled him back down by his sleeve when Lambert made a noise. "What?" Geralt asked.

"Leave him alone," Lambert said. "He'll find someone when he wants company. Besides, you probably aren't the first person he would want to talk to about anything."

Geralt put his face in his hands. "I feel like I fucked up his life."

His brothers responded with "Don't be so dramatic," and a facetious, "Poor Geralt." He sat up and tried not to glare.

Lambert just rolled his eyes. "You were a dick to him, sending him off like that. But he was a pest that shamelessly followed you around for twenty years even though you didn't encourage him. You apologized and that shit's over and done with. Now you gotta get to know who he is now."

* * *

It was just a change he needed to adapt to, Julian reminded himself. When his voice had been stolen virtually overnight by his body betraying him nobody at Oxenfurt said it had sounded _bad_.... Just different. They could have been lying, but Julian didn't think all of them would; even Marx had come over and grumbled something about how Julian had managed to outwit him again by having a new vocal range to explore.

(Julian felt a bit better now that he potentially had a long lifespan; Valdo Marx being an elf had always made him angry that the second-tier hack would outlive him and possibly his reputation as well. He totally needed to find him and Julian would cherish that spark of envy and hatred that would be in Marx's eyes when he saw that his rival had outwitted him again!)

Triss had said earlier that the new natural growl in his voice would serve him well when he performed the new songs he would write about his new life as a witcher. It would imbue his lyrics with a harshness that would emphasize the deprivation and violence of a witcher's lonely life.

Remembering all of this Julian no longer felt the crush of devastation and grief that had made him put the instrument down in the great hall. It was an opportunity, he reminded himself.

All three men were surprised when Julian strode back into the hall as if nothing had happened. He brought over a tankard and sat on the bench next to Lambert. Filling his mug, he felt them all eying him in concern. 

He knew now to drink Lambert's concoction carefully. He didn't really want to raise the topic, but his brothers' concern was a heavy thing, so he just knocked his shoulder against Lambert's and said, "I'm going to have to write new songs. And I am going to find Valdo Marx and make him shit his pants when he sees who I am now and that my mortality will no longer give him an edge in the annals of history. He is going to be so jealous. He thought he could just wait me out, him being an elf."

Lambert barked a hearty laugh, and the other two men smiled. "You're gonna fucking destroy him! The first witcher bard-- just your name will be remembered! But all the songs you're gonna write... this is going to change the way the world treats us forever!"

Julian nodded. "I hope so. Even though most of the time people were polite, that fear they have was hard for me."

"You never had that fear," Geralt quietly said. "That's what made you so intriguing. And annoying," he added unapologetically. "I had never had anyone so eager to stay with me, and it was difficult to adapt to dealing with another person constantly being there."

"To Jaskier," Julian toasted facetiously, "The tag-along bard. Unwanted but too hard to remove, like wet shit on a shoe."

Geralt looked both horrified and distraught. "No! That is not what I meant!" He got some startled looks and then dropped back down to the bench from where he had half-risen to his feet. He was pleased to see that no one looked upset and they were all simply waiting for him to put the right words together.

"I had never met anyone with a personality like yours," Geralt finally said. "You know now how everyone always has an edge of fear and distrust for one of us. You never did, and I couldn't figure out why."

"I told you," Julian said.

"I remember."

_"You aren't afraid of me," Geralt had said once, in a tavern soon after meeting Jaskier._

_  
_

"Why should I be afraid of you?"

"I could hurt you. Kill you."

Jaskier snorted. "No shit. But so could pretty much everything else. Shall we play 'Who Could Beat Up The Bard?'" He looked around at the other drinkers. "He could, and him, and him... oh, she could. And, look, that chicken has a particularly dangerous gleam in its beady little eye, doesn't it?" He saw that Geralt rolling his eyes. "If I didn't talk to anyone who could murder me, I wouldn't be able to talk to myself!"

"Why don't you learn how to defend yourself?"

_"I have! My silver tongue is my best weapon. Think about how much you hated me that day we met. You could have used a sword instead of your fist, but you chose to give me a punch to the gut instead. I had already charmed you!"_

Eskel looked curious. "What was the answer?"

Julian smiled. "I didn't want to live a long life avoiding anything potentially fatal. Look where that bravery made me end up!"

"It was more luck and stupidity," Lambert said. "Sure, you had balls, but you were a dumb kid too eager for fame and excitement to understand the danger."

Julian made an exasperated sound but still smiled at them fondly. "I don't think you'll ever understand. I made the conscious decision to trust Geralt, and then all of you. Lambert-- I admit it took me the longest to trust you. You've always been a prick."

Lambert lifted his mug in proud acceptance. "Geralt wrote a poem about that once. A short, shitty poem." He set his drink down a bit roughly as another thought occurred to him. "Geralt, you are a dense son-of-a-bitch. Turns out that Julian picked up a ton of knowledge about witchering from you, but you never learned a thing about his craft from him. Couldn't even make my damn poem a couplet."

Geralt thought for a moment. "Lambert, Lambert, what a prick. Even drunk he's still a dick."

"Not the limerick you promised, but it'll do," Lambert said, pleased.

Julian was horrified. "That is not a limerick! I really hope you're just taking the piss, asshole!"

"Isn't one supposed to only write odes to things of beauty?" Geralt said dryly, not hiding a smirk. Even Lambert laughed at that.

* * *

Vesemir told Geralt that he was to take Julian out to the valley and teach him where some of the more useful herbs and other ingredients could be found.

"It's winter. What's out there that is even alive?" Julian grumbled, but he pulled on his cold weather gear.

When they left the castle and had to break a path through the hip-deep snow, Geralt couldn't help but habitually fret about his friend's well-being. "Are you sure you're not cold?"

"I'm a witcher now," Julian said for the third time, still more amused than angry. "I promise that if I need that scarf you tucked in your satchel I will ask."

They went first to the old mine to gather mushrooms. Then Geralt led them to a thick stand of trees and told him to draw his sword.

"Wolf livers," Julian said, hearing the approaching heartbeats. "Got it."

The older witcher had to admit that he was more interested in seeing the former bard fight than he was in killing the beasts himself. Julian dispatched four wolves easily, and Geralt took on another three.

"That's a bad habit," Geraly said, "Biting your lip while you fight."

Julian shrugged. "Vesemir says I'll bite through it one of these days. I guess I'll stop doing it once that happens."

Geralt pulled his knife out and put it to use. "I used to--"

"Rock your weight back onto your heels," Julian finished. He was bending down with his own knife to remove the livers from the dead animals. "He told me."

"When did you meet up with Vesemir and come back here?" They rolled up the livers in a stained cloth and Geralt tucked it in the satchel underneath the mushrooms. Once Julian told him, he nodded. "I think I was down around Geso and Metinna around that time. When did he start the sword training?"

"That autumn. The dropping temperatures weren't doing me any favors at that time. I had to stay inside, so he started training me. He swore that exercise would slow my deterioration, and maybe it did."

Geralt pointed to the northeast and started breaking a path through the pristine snow, keeping to the tree trunks where he could where the layer of ice was thinnest. "He said you were in a bad way when he found you," Geralt said quietly, half-hoping that Julian couldn't hear. "It... it's hard for me to imagine that."

"You saw me sick before."

Geralt stopped and took some time to look from the side of the mountain down into the valley, Julian going still behind him to admire the view, too. "Not sick," Geralt corrected. "Sad." Geralt couldn't look at his friend as he said that. He pretended that he was too wrapped up in gazing at the castle and the few other ruins.

"I had recovered from our split by then. You didn't have anything to do with my illness."

"I'm sorry I wasn't a good student. I was afraid."

Julian didn't understand. "Student? What do you mean?"

Geralt shook his head and managed to look at Julian, with his hood up and his blue quilted armor with its unfinished floral edging the newest witcher was painstakingly sewing by hand. He was pleased to know that Jaskier's fondness for pretty colors and embellishments was still alive in Julian. "I should have been learning how to be a good friend and kind person. It hurt, though, like thawing out, and I was too afraid of the emotional pain."

Julian shrugged. "It's just like learning any new skill: you have to get hurt repeatedly until you develop the calluses." He held up his hand ax an example, though his skin was covered by a thick leather gauntlet. "Most people develop those emotional calluses growing up, but you witchers seem to have been damaged until you learned it was safer to make some imaginary barriers and keep your feelings hidden inside. I've talked to some mind-healers at the university about it, not naming witchers in particular, but it seems to be something called a mental coping defense. I can't blame you for staying distant, but you did know better than to blame your troubles on me."

"Hmm," Geralt said thoughtfully. He continued their trek upwards. "I met an old woman once who said that the problem with immortals is that they rarely grow up."

Julian laughed. "I like that. Has some ring of truth to it."

* * *

Like he had over thirty years ago, Julian did all the exercises and chord progressions to develop his fingers' agility and muscle memory. He felt pretty optimistic mid-way through winter, and started testing out and training his voice. The physician at the university had given him vocal and throat exercises to do, but he had mostly been too despondent to try to work with what he thought of as his new disability.

Most of his practicing was done alone, but he held no illusions about keeping it secret; witcher hearing meant that he could rarely slip away and be entirely out of earshot from someone. But he was encouraged by the smiles everyone seemed to have on the days when he felt proud about his progress and had practiced happier songs.

The first song he composed was basically an ode to the harsh and majestic Blue Mountains. He wasn't very satisfied with that one, because it didn't account very well for his new vocal range. He had to remind himself that this was a process and he was making progress.

The second song was about the Trial of the Grasses. He was careful to hum instead of sing most of the lyrics he had in his head because they might offend or hurt the older witchers. In his rare moments of mental clarity between agonies he had thought a lot about how horrible the procedure must have been for mere boys to endure. It was being torn apart and remade inside, like everything under his skin had jellified and then reformed into organs of only approximately the same shape and size. His skin had felt thin and torn as larger muscles were magically made, and then dry and leathery and thick as his living hide had mutated into something hardier and more resistant.

His song spoke of the waste of children, of precious lives snuffed out for the sake of a largely ungrateful world, and it was only for him to process and grieve. This song was not meant for anyone else.

The third song was a story about a witcher arriving at a town to accept a contract, the battle with the beast, and then his return to the town which was less triumphant and more like another fight as the witcher was refused his earned payment and jeered by the townsfolk as he walked through the road. A girl had been the only one to thank him. The last third of the song was how the town's reputation for being inhospitable to witchers meant that no one took their next contract when they were threatened by a more serious monster. The original witcher, however, went there to try to at least rescue the girl but she was already dead. It was very heavy-handed, but the other wolves thought it a good song that he should try out on the road.

So he did, though only in towns that were welcoming and paid him without any grudge. Even the drunks got solemn expressions and understood the moral at the tragic ending.

* * *

On his good days Julian has his old charm. He can walk into a tavern and turn the silence into a cacophony of laughter and singing. He may not have the voice to sing the merry tunes that make folk tap their feet, but after he gets a classic sing-along going he can usually flatter the best singer to sing along while he plays. Then when the crowd turns more tired and introspective he will sing the songs that work better with his voice.

It's almost like it used to be.

There are plenty of women who offer their intimate company, but men never do. And whenever Julian has the interest to proposition a man, the man never accepts. Never. Julian hasn't enjoyed a cock that wasn't attached to him in years.

He complains about this to Coën when he meets him in Aedirn. "I've heard about that," the griffin witcher says. "Nothing that I'm interested in myself, but witchers tend to have to ask other witchers for that kind of stuff. Human males-- even elves and dwarves, I've heard-- are just too intimidated to compare themselves to a witcher. It seems to be an ego thing."

Julian sighs. "It can't be that difficult. I would have fucked Geralt if he had given any signs of interest."

"From what I've heard," Coën says, "you were very open-minded and had a high enough opinion of yourself that comparing cocks with a witcher wasn't going to cause a mental crisis."

* * *

Julian finally is approached by a young man in Cidaris. The "young man" is more of a boy and is probably barely twenty, and says that he loves music and can play the drum and flute but hasn't been able to afford a lute yet. He gives Julian a look from under his eyelashes and says he'll suck his cock for a chance to touch his lute.

Julian doesn't laugh because he'll hurt the kid's feelings, but he's struck by the role reversal. No wonder Geralt kept trying to sweat him away like a fly: the boy's determination is a cloying thing that makes pity clog Julian's throat instead of his prick tent his trousers. He ends up giving the boy an introductory lesson on the parts of a lute and how to hold it, and teaches him a few chords and watches his fingers made the note changes quicker and less clumsily than he had expected. He writes the boy an introductory letter to the university just in case he actually does have the gumption to travel to Oxenfurt, then ushers the kid from his room without undoing a single button.

He reminisces that night, and is so embarrassed for his younger self that he has to meditate to wrench his thoughts from that rut before he can sleep.

* * *

Vesemir and Eskel had worked with him on his signs that winter but had forbidden him from trying to banish any spectres, saying that he still lacked the power and speed of integrating magic into his physical attacks.

Julian didn't think they were _wrong,_ but they weren't here to try to deny the pleading eyes of the four children in the family who had been chased from their farm. If the wraith wasn't dealt with they wouldn't be able to harvest enough to keep them alive in the winter.

He did something Geralt had never done: he told them that the task was probably too dangerous for him, even admitting that this was only his second year being a witcher. He got a lot of angry looks because everyone "knew" witchers were trained young, so he just looked like a coward. Julian would have left except for the hungry and scared looking kids.

"If you can send out runners to the four closest towns to put up notices," he said, "I will try."

The townsfolk insisted that they could have people post notices in six towns and crossroads, and also offered anything they could that would prepare him to fight the wraith. He was moved that the entire village was willing to do what they could to help their neighbors.

He did the preliminary work easily enough; he already had heard the story of the young woman who had been murdered by her lover, knew her identity, and knew the object that he needed to find. Is was easy enough to find the sickle abandoned in the river and take it to the field she was haunting.

The noonwraith spit and slashed him, and Julian's Yrden was too weak to force her into corporeal form long enough to wound her enough. Some villagers were brave enough to drag him away from her territory before she could actually kill him.

It was nice to have the townsfolk dote on him while he recovered, but he was as relieved as they were when an unfamiliar witcher came in to claim the bounty just a couple of days later... Even though that meant the scary-looking man came to loom over him with a smirk.

"So you're the idiot newbie, huh?"

Julian smiled thinly. "First season alone on the Path. They told me I wasn't good enough to take on a wraith, but I couldn't turn the poor family down."

The bald and scarred stranger moved a hand to pull the blanket away to assess Julian's wounds, but Julian kept it in place. "Who are you?"

"Letho. Viper."

Julian kept his face from frowning because he hadn't heard anything good about the Kingslayer, but still didn't like to judge people by their reputations. "Julian, School of the Wolf."

"I noticed," the witcher said. "Lemme take a look."

"Fine," Julian said, allowing the blanket to be pulled away while he pulled up his shirt and exposed the bandages. The noonwraith's dirty claws had raked down his sternum and into his belly, not deep enough to punch through the fat and muscle into the organs, thanks be. But infection was likely.

"Couldn't hold out two days, huh?" Lethal grunted. He turned away and Julian took that as permission to put the bandages back into place the best he could.

"Nope," a big hand stopped him. "Drink this." Julian hesitantly accepted the vial and followed instructions; there was a crowd of villagers huddled at the other end of the tavern watching them, and he didn't think the Viper was going to poison him in front of witnesses.

Letho swiped some sort of sharp-smelling salve on Julian's wounds. "Haven't heard of you before."

"I was only given the decoctions two winters ago," he said quietly enough to only be heard by witcher ears. Letho's heavy brow jerked in surprise. "Yeah, turned at 42 years. I was dying anyway, and Vesemir had been doing research to see if adults could be made into witchers, so I volunteered. I was already at the castle anyway."

"Who are you to be so close to the Wolves?" Letho asked.

"You might have heard of the White Wolf's bard, his companion until about twelve years ago."

Letho nodded thoughtfully, closing the tin of salve and tucking it back into his pack. "I thought you were an idiot back then, too."

"Fair enough," Julian said with a smile.

"...Maybe this is a good thing," the enormous witcher murmured thoughtfully. At Julian's inquiring look he expounded, "You were a human first. I've never seen an entire ploughing _village_ mollycoddle a witcher like this. It was already hard for me to believe they bothered to save your life in the first place."

Julian tried to think of a way to explain how admitting vulnerability to others could create a bond that wouldn't make this intimidating slab of a loner flee with terror at the notion. "If you want strangers to treat you like a person they need to sense a kinship. Sometimes it's as easy as saying you have been to their hometown or you think the color of their dress brings a beautiful sparkle out in their eyes. Other times you have to admit that you are willing to die to try to save their starving children. Most people cannot consider anything a monster once they understand they have emotions and similarities."

Letho had a thoughtful look on his face as he slung his pack over one huge shoulder and stood up. The man was enormous. "Don't take on any more wraiths until you're told," he said. "Your Yrdens barely made an impression in the bare dirt, they were so weak."

Julian gave him a sloppy salute. "Thanks for the rescue. Good luck on the Path."

That story made everyone at Kaer Morhen angry with him that winter, and meant that Julian was practicing his signs rigorously until he practically dropped from exhaustion each day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the very nice comments! I haven't been writing as much in the past couple weeks, but I had this part lying around pretty much done. I figured I would post it for someone to enjoy.
> 
> Feedback is welcome, as well as any suggestions. This has been such a great fandom to be involved with, and everyone has just been super supportive!


	3. Excerpts from the first year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From when Julian first goes out on the Path with Lambert. Lambert's thoughts about what has happened to him and Julian has some struggles adapting to his new life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had intended to write more in this AU, but lost interest in writing for this fandom. I don't think I will actually return to this story, but here is a pretty good bit that was polished and I re-read and enjoyed.

Lambert had known the bard Jaskier for over fifteen years. He had first become familiar with the name as Geralt complained about the addle-pated child who was intent on following him around on his "adventures." His brother had a lot of stories in those first years about the amorous idiot who could fall in love ten times in one day and ploughed nobles and whores with equal passion. As Lambert and Eskel and even Vesemir became more familiar with the bard's songs and reputation as his renown grew, they began hinting that Geralt should bring the human to Kaer Morhen for a winter. When he finally did and the other wolves and Coën actually met the famous Master Bard Jaskier, he was an improbable, instant favorite.  


Geralt had left out most of Jaskier's positive qualities. They had expected a fumbling lovestruck boy but Jaskier's dramatic and flashy persona hid a keen mind and large heart. None of the witchers had ever known anyone like him, and that intrigued all of them (including Geralt, who by the second winter of knowing Jaskier had not been able to hide his fondness for him from any of his brethren).  


As the years passed, Jaskier split his time teaching at Oxenfurt, traveling with Geralt (sometimes spending a few weeks with Eskel or Lambert, instead), and joining the Wolves some winters. After nineteen years of Geralt's acquaintance, Jaskier had known the others witchers for sixteen years and spent seven of those winters at Kaer Morhen. The first winter that Jaskier didn't return and Geralt refused to give any details on why was when his brother witchers could only assume there had been a falling out.  


Eskel and Lambert expected to run into Jaskier on the Path again, maybe even visit Oxenfurt eventually and take the time to see him. But Lambert's reunion with Jaskier at the old castle was entirely unexpected. He had entered the courtyard and recognized Jaskier's smile and had started grinning back and freeing his arms for a hug before the man's changes registered. Jaskier ran at him and Lambert found himself embracing a much more muscular version of his friend. (That word may not pass his lips, but he could admit that Jaskier was a friend to himself because he had more self-awareness than _Geralt_ , for fuck's sake!) Vesemir had been following Jaskier's approach more delicately and caught Lambert's puzzled glance and just shrugged, a complex expression on his face that Lambert couldn't parse.  


Jaskier smelled similar: the base notes of his skin and sweat were the same, but there was no hint of the filbert oil/oatmeal/beeswax smell that had lingered on the bard's fingertips the entire time Lambert had known him. Jaskier's voice was entirely unfamiliar: raspy and flat. When Jaskier finally pulled away, scrubbing tears from his face and apologizing with that new voice for being so emotional, Lambert saw that it was definitely his friend and that he had changed beyond natural means. The yellow-green eyes with the catlike pupils explained only part of the difference.  


Meeting Jaskier as a witcher made Lambert's entire perception of reality quake. Firstly, because _the adult human was now a witcher._ Secondly because of the state of the bard's life when he fatefully encountered Vesemir. Lambert had seen Jaskier less than three years ago, and his voice and scent had changed since then because illness had stolen his voice and music-- and, without the ability to play the lute, the hazelnut and ground oat concoction along with wax that Jaskier had used religiously on his calluses wasn't needed anymore so he smelled very different.  


As soon as Lambert knew the whole story, he was committed to getting Jaskier-now-Julian as prepared as he could for his new life. "You're a baby witcher, Julian. I'm not the youngest!" Lambert crowed, and he would frequently taunt Julian with this knowledge and ambush him by grinding his knuckles into his skull, and generally be a pest to his new brother like he often was to Eskel and Geralt. The difference was that Lambert held no grudge (fair or otherwise) against Julian, and was always secretly pleased whenever Julian could get the upper hand in a scuffle and cackled out loud every time Julian enjoyed using his new strength to do things like toss Lambert into a snow bank.

* * *

When Vesemir kicked them out in the spring to have Lambert mentor Julian for his first few months on the Path, Lambert was relieved that the new witcher wasn't going out alone. Julian had an unexpected breadth of knowledge on the species and potions and methods of monster hunting, but lacked practical experience. They had hunted harpies and drowners and wolves and even a bear in the mountains, but none of them were confident in Julian taking on anything bigger on his own. Particularly any wraiths, because Julian was still very inconsistent with the strength and efficacy of his signs.  


Generally, Julian was a cheerful companion. There was less music and singing than there used to be, but he would maintain conversations and charm most of the strangers they met. He didn't have the usual wary reserve all other witchers had from their training and growing up outside of the human population. Julian may not have the boyish demeanor that he used to wield so well, but he was warm and courteous and genuine and the merchants and innkeepers were a lot more welcoming than Lambert was used to.  


There were times, however, when Julian was withdrawn and miserable. When Lambert finally pried the reason why from Julian it was something he could understand: sometimes the stimuli from his newly enhanced senses was overwhelming. Julian apologized for his "weakness" but Lambert waved that away. "We all struggle through it. Still happens to me, sometimes, in a crowd. You just have to figure out the best way for you to handle it."  


Lambert usually wasn't protective of anything except getting what he'd earned, but he had to stop himself from trying to get between Julian and the world. Even though Julian may consider himself a different person than Jaskier, he still had a naive expectation for the world to provide kindness. It made Lambert furious, but he had to stand back and let Julian learn to handle the superstitious witcher-haters by himself. He was afraid of seeing Julian get hurt and lose that optimism. The best he could do was joke with Julian afterward to try to lighten the mood. "Glad you were able to deal with that sour-pussed old goat. I would've gladly stuck a knife into him. Can't you smell how his hatred hides his envy? He would give Destiny everything he had to swap places with us, and I bet it's mostly because that nag of a wife has a rope around his balls."  


It was their third hunt together in Kaedwen proper when a bomb made several rotfiends explode at once, leaving both Lambert and Julian drenched in their foul-smelling ichor and viscera.  


Julian gagged and gave Lambert such a puppyish expression of hurt and betrayal that Lambert literally fell to the ground rolling with laughter. He recovered enough to follow Julian as he staggered to the mill pond and just dumped his weapons and armor in a pile before he trudged into the water like he was facing execution.  


"You're so dramatic!" Lambert called, as he removed his own armor on the shore so he could join the baby witcher.  


"Why did you throw a bomb at them when two were already on the verge of exploding already?!"  


"I did it just so the fighting could end with a big bang that would make you pout like a child denied a sweet," Lambert said sarcastically. He waded into the pond himself and dunked Julian's head, instigating a tussle that left them both laughing and water-logged.  


Julian did indeed pout over his disgusting belongings. He was especially and audibly upset at how difficult it was to get the rotting matter out of his hair, which had grown rather long. Finally he tossed down the comb and turned his back to Lambert. "Just cut it off," he said.  


"I don't have much experience," Lambert warned, but Julian insisted. When he got a look at Lambert's best efforts in his reflection that led to another wrestling match with Julian's voice going hoarse from all the screaming he did at Lambert and Lambert's abdominal muscles going weak from his laughing. As they stayed in the abandoned settlement for the night, Lambert ended up shaving Julian's scalp. The former bard had to face the contract-giver with a grim expression and a blush and then used an unfairly large portion of their reward money on a little capelet so he could hide his baldness under a hood.  


Lambert had stopped being amused and was regretful by that point at Julian's distress. "Sorry that I fucked up cutting your hair."  


Julian gave Lambert a weak but genuine smile and shrug. "It's not that you fucked it up; I couldn't have done any better. It's just another way my life is different now. All the vanities I had the luxury of curating before are worthless. Eh, I suppose that's a normal change that happens anyway as one gets old."  


"Hey, no one is immune to caring about how they look," Lambert said. "Even our misanthropic White Wolf is particular about his hair and face."  


Julian wrinkled his nose. "Really? If you consider Geralt vain, then I'm surprised you bother to comb your own hair."  


"Have you ever seen me comb my hair? I don't."  


"You have to," Julian said, frowning.  


Lambert spread his hands out innocently. "I don't own a comb. Or a razor. You're welcome to search my belongings."  


Julian knew he was being tricked; Lambert couldn't maintain a straight face long enough for two beats of a witcher's heart, and he was smirking with more than his usual gleam of amusement at how he was winding Julian up. It was a mystery that Julian was now determined to solve.  


He never caught Lambert fussing with his hair or beard _once_. Every time a battle was done, it looked exactly the same. Julian meditated from sundown to sunup several times and never saw Lambert pull out a hidden hairbrush or even look in a mirror. The most he ever did was wipe drink or grease from his mouth with his sleeve, like an utter barbarian.  


"You utter barbarian," Julian hissed to Lambert. A Koviri count had invited them to join him for supper and served them roast bird and expensive wine from Toussaint, and Lambert had just guzzled the wine like cheap ale, belched, and then blotted his chin with his shirt. Julian had told him to use table manners and had even moved the serviette onto his friend's lap, but Lambert was still acting like a Nazairi herdsman. The older witcher's poor manners were attracting stares and whispers. "Remember that threat?" He didn't have to move his lips much to be able to speak clearly enough for another witcher to hear, especially if that witcher was seated right next to him.  


Lambert reached over Julian's plate to grab his wine glass, brushing his damp, greasy sleeve over Julian's food. "You're the one who is so obsessed with making a good impression," Lambert said. "I hardly think you're going to attack me right here."  


"You're wrong," Julian hissed, and he sliced his knife across Lambert's thigh. Lambert choked on his pilfered wine but didn't spit it out. His eyes turned on Julian full of sheer disbelief and shock.  


"You are barking _mad_. Did you just cut me for bad table manners?"  


Julian smiled winningly at their hosts who were sitting close enough to have picked up that their guests were squabbling over something. When he resumed speaking solely for Lambert's ears his voice was even lower and more grating than normal. "Every time you fail to practice the table manners _that I know for a fact_ were drilled into every witcher trainee, I will sink my blade into your flesh. I just used my pocket knife now, but if you continue to press me I will use all of my blades in increasing size and then explain in detail every one of those new scars and the reason you earned it to Vesemir when we return to Kaer Morhen."  


Lambert went pale and jumped to his feet, his chair falling to the floor with a crash. Every eye in the hall was on him, but their curiosity and hostility didn't weigh up to much next to the insanity of the former bard still cutting his meat delicately as the room went silent. "Ex-excuse me, uh, gracious hosts. Please." He couldn't think of any plausible lie that would explain him running from the place like his arse was on fire, but he figured Julian might fucking gut him if he insinuated that the other witcher was why he was leaving. So he just bowed and left. It was a shitty bow, no doubt, but at least when Julian tried to stab him for _that_ he would be able to fight back.  


Lambert had half a mind to be out of the district by the time the banquet was done, but his conscience (which chose a damn fine time to speak up and prove that it had not, in fact, withered away from decades of neglect) made him only sprint to a copse of trees ten minutes from the estate manor as the witcher flees. Usually Lambert preferred to nap rather than meditate, but he was too on edge to try to sleep. Had the experimental Trial made Julian go bugshit crazy, or had the man been so homicidally unhinged before becoming a witcher?  


Several hours later Julian found him. "I'm sorry I was such an asshole." Lambert cracked his eyes open so that he could better keep track of the baby witcher's movements, but Julian just collapsed onto his ass in the dirt.  


"Promising start on your apology, I guess," Lambert said.  


"Start? That _was_ an-- oh, never mind. I am the one in the wrong, despite the fact that your disgusting habits started it all."  


"Damn right. Why the hell did you escalate shit so fast?"  


Julian rubbed his face. "Arabella, the countess, was a dear friend. Not _that_ kind of friend, because she was betrothed to Beledal by the time we met and was already quite in love. And Bel is one of the kindest and generous noblemen I have ever met. I couldn't risk you having us-- me, particularly, thrown out. I had to make the best impression."  


Julian sounded like he was admitting something personal and painful, but Lambert couldn't understand what. "They didn't act like they knew you."  


It was the wrong thing to remind Julian of, apparently, because he was definitely crying. "No. They didn't."  


Lambert's realization was overdue and made him wince. _"Fuck."_ He scooted over and put his arm around his brother. "I forget that you have friends. Like, actual human friends. Shit. Did I fuck everything up?"  


Julian shook his head. "Once most of the guests left I told them. They didn't believe me at first, of course. I look too different. Sound...." He trailed off, swallowing down the wave of self-pity.  


"But they did believe you. That's good. Right?" Fuck, Lambert was going to be a dumb-ass and have to put his foot in his mouth for saying the wrong thing again, wasn't he? He was not made for this heart-to-heart feelings bullshit.  


"Yeah. Yes, we caught up. They were happy that I'm a witcher instead of dead, but Bella's never going to treat me like a friend again. I can tell. It isn't her fault, not intentionally. Bel's as generous and welcoming as ever, though, bless him. He's the one who offered me the opportunity to go back tomorrow to see Clarissa."  


Lambert figured asking "Who's Clarissa?" was safe enough. Julian smiled before it trembled apart into more quiet sobs. Lambert was about done with this shit. Eskel should be having this conversation. Even fucking _Geralt_ wouldn't be fucking it up this badly. He should just take a page out of the bleached bastard's book and keep his trap shut. He focused on circling his palm on Julian's back and hoped that was somewhat soothing.  


"Clarissa's their daughter. Adorable, intelligent, lively. She's thirteen now, I can hardly believe it. When she was born Bella offered to make me her godfather, but I was traveling around with Geralt and working on my career and reputation and told her to choose someone more reliable. Still, I saw them whenever I could. Clarissa had an accident a few years ago, and I never heard. Fell off a horse. Bedridden, now, and I don't know if I can face her."  


Lambert digested that information. Figured he wouldn't be able to console Julian by saying the right thing, so he instead said, "Can you tell me about her? She seems kind of important to you."  


This tactic actually seemed to work. Julian talked and laughed and cried less, and seemed to be considering visiting the girl as a positive thing when he finally ran out of words. Lambert listened for a while and then let his mind wander and tried not to finger the rip in his trousers where Julian had slashed him because it would only make the hole bigger and more of a bitch to mend.  


"I think I'd like to get some sleep," Julian finally said. "They offered us rooms at the house."  


"You got enough energy to make it back? All that crying looked exhausting." Lambert stood up and held out a hand to haul Julian to his feet.  


The former bard snorted. "You're the coward who had to run away so far because a little 'baby witcher' stabbed him with a manicure knife."  


"Stabbed me just because I didn't use a napkin. You acted insane!"  


Julian looked rather shamefaced. "It's... hard for me. I was one thing for over forty years, and now I'm another thing but still the same person. Kind of." He sighed. "Maybe I'm not the same person. Perhaps it would be best if I really considered Jaskier to be dead."  


Lambert put a hand on his shoulder. "I can't pretend to understand what you're going through. All I can tell you is my opinion. Witchers don't make friends who want them to be involved in their children's lives. If those are the kinds of relationships you can and want to have with people, then you shouldn't throw away the connections you made before you became one of us. You weren't a child who had to grow up to be a outcast without a choice. You've got charm and people skills, so the way I see it you've got a leg up on the rest of us sad Kaer Morhen bastards when it comes to making folks not hate you. But I can't guarantee you'll make new friends who want you to be a godfather. You should try to salvage what you can while the mortals you care about are still alive."  


"Thanks, Lambert," Julian said sincerely. "I guess anybody can gain at least a bit of wisdom with age."  


"Fuck off," Lambert growled as he shoved Julian. But he was relieved that his newest brother was back to busting his chops. As long as he kept his knives tucked away where they belonged.  


Lambert didn't know what to do with himself in the morning after their hosts served breakfast. (He had been on his best behavior for that meal, at least, now that he knew why Julian cared about the opinion of these people.) He decided to lurk in the library, but didn't have to pretend to be interest in the book collection long before he could hear Julian calling his name.  


Julian wasn't distressed and wasn't shouting. He just said, "Lambert, would you come and join us please?" at a volume Lambert could hear from the ground floor, so he didn't draw a sword and charge through the house. He even made himself knock at the partly-closed door of the room Julian was in.  


Their reunion must not be going well, because Julian looked a little depressed. He put on a show of cheer as he made the introductions and Lambert found himself facing a girl who started at him without any fear, unlike most of the humans of her age and gender Lambert had ever encountered. Lambert crossed his arms and nodded warily, at a loss as to what he was supposed to be doing in this room.  


"I thought only boys could become witchers," Clarissa said. There was an edge of accusation in her tone, but Lambert didn't know who she was accusing and of what.  


Julian didn't seem to be interested in responding, so Lambert figured the statement was for him. "So did I. Then I ran into him and learned that he had risked his life for an experiment that had a very slim chance of working. If I had known what Jaskier was about to do, I would have stopped him. Or at least tried to stop him."  


"It was my choice," Julian said. "I was dying anyway."  


"So can anybody become a witcher now?" Clarissa asked.  


Lambert saw her adjust her skirt over her knees and remembered that she had been crippled. When he met Julian's gaze he saw a plea for help. "No. I don't think this means that there will be a lot of new witchers made."  


"What if I volunteered like Jaskier did?"  


He wondered if Julian had called him in to convince her it was a good idea or try to talk her out of it. He went with his honest opinion. "We couldn't use you. Even if you did survive, even if you were made healthy again, you would lose a lot more than you gained. Being made a witcher just delayed Jaskier's death sentence. Instead of dying last winter, he will die tomorrow or maybe in 50 years, and he's likely to do it alone while being torn apart by a monster instead of in a comfortable bed. That's how all witchers die, that's how I'm gonna go. Would your parents want you to wager your life like that?"  


She looked more thoughtful than scared.  


"You sacrifice more than you gain," Lambert said. "It's a shitty trade, and one you can't ever undo. You would have to give up your friends and family."

* * *

"It wasn't a shitty trade," Julian said, after they had left the estate. Lambert made a questioning noise. "Even if I wasn't dying I would have traded the world for my witchers anyway." He thought that would reassure this strange tension he often sensed in the man. Julian was now thinking it might some sort of guilt on Lambert's part over Julian now being a witcher.  


Lambert ground his teeth together and Julian could hear his pulse quicken in anger. "If you want to piss me off then let's keep talking about this."  


Julian threw his hands up. "I think you have the mistaken impression that my life as a human bard was wonderful. Or maybe you, like Geralt, just can't comprehend that you are individuals who are worth more than the shit everyone else gives you?"  


Lambert laughed bitterly. "Everything isn't about you or how you feel. But fine, let's address the 'worthiness' of us witchers. What have we given you for your loyalty?"  


"A home. Saved my life a handful of times. Let me use your hardships and bravery as a platform to make myself famous and successful."  


"A home," Lambert sneered. "A falling-down wreck of a ruin in the middle of the mountains that is cold year-round? You would trade Oxenfurt and Novigrad and Beauclair for Kaer Morhen?"  


"It's not like it's a dungeon."  


"It is. No taverns, no wenches, no featherbeds or bathhouses. You thrive on having other people around. You gave up the best university on the Continent for a handful of semi-literate sword-swingers. I'd like to see you try to have an academic debate with Geralt."  


"A home doesn't need to fulfill all of one's needs," Julian argued.  


"Fine," Lambert shrugged, but his anger was still roiling within him. "Then let's discuss saving your life. How Vesemir is such a selfless nurturer." The scorn on those last words was scathing.  


Julian was confused. "How is this about Vesemir?"  


Lambert turned abruptly to point a finger at Julian. "Don't buy the old man act. I relaxed after forty years, thinking the bastard couldn't do anything more to me. But then he did this to you."  


"You are angry at him that he made me a witcher?" Julian asked. Lambert just grunted and turned away and continued moving. Julian wasn't going to let that stand without an explanation. "He saved my life. Offered to take me to Kaer Morhen and tend to me while I died slowly, knowing I would lose the ability to move and feed myself. Was going to clean me up after I started pissing myself. He said that he would be proud to do that for me because I was his friend."  


"How do you think he got so good at tending invalids? How many thousands of boys do you think died on his watch, under his hands? You think Vesemir's just a harmless old man up in his castle, organizing his library and tending his bees. He wants to resurrect the School-- fuck, the whole godsdamned _Guild_. He wasn't done killing children, and you fell into his lap like a shiny apple."  


Julian had known there was conflict between Lambert and Vesemir. Geralt had said Lambert was just an asshole, while Eskel had been a little more helpful by telling Jaskier that the youngest witcher held a grudge against all the witchers and their selection and training methods.  


"What did he do to you?" He asked Lambert gently. Anger kept this hot meant a personal offense. Even if Lambert was right about Vesemir having a hand in others' deaths, there must be some specific incident.  


"The same thing he did to all of us. I just never bought into the bullshit. If you don't fall for the Destiny crap, or the 'noble tradition' of witchers, then you see the system for what it really is. Thousands of boys stolen from their homes and put through a meat grinder."  


"I thought they took volunteers and children of surprise."  


"My drunk asshole of a dad was saved by a witcher. The witcher took me as payment. No one asked me, no one even asked him to save my abusive old man. Witchers talk about the greater good or the lesser evil. The lesser evil would have been letting a lazy drunk die instead of letting him live to beat up his wife and kids and taking away one of those kids in the bargain. Who knows what other lives I could have lived?"  


Julian plodded along in silence for a while. "Yeah, you got a shitty deal. I'm sorry for that. But there aren't any guarantees in life. Your father could have killed you the next week if you stayed with him. Maybe you could have made something of yourself, had a wife and a family. Maybe you would have become an angry drunk like your father. Does it matter?"  


Lambert's eyes burned like flames. "They've just recreated the Trial of Grasses and can start the system up again. 7 out of 10 boys died.... maybe it'll be 9 out of 10 'volunteers.' Could be 3 out of 4 people survive, but the assholes who end up being witchers can't leave their mortal alliances behind, and we end up with armies of us at war. It's a fucking slippery slope."  


"But you're in a position to shape the new wave of witchers. If there even will be a new generation, and I wasn't a fluke." Julian took Lambert's hand. "The way I see it, you would be the best person to establish the new system. You remember the mistakes and injustices of the past. You have stayed angry about it for years while everyone else may have forgotten or grown numb." He sighed.  


"I had wondered if the Trial succeeded if I would still be myself. Geralt insisted for years that 'witchers can't feel' and even though I realized early on it was rubbish I was afraid. Power can corrupt good people. Witchers have power-- not just signs, but their durability and skills and lifespans mean they automatically rise about the scrabble of ordinary humans. If I ended up corrupted, became a monster, I asked Vesemir to have me killed. Even if he couldn't do it, I knew that you or Geralt or Eskel would."  


Lambert pulled them to a stop so that he could have Julian face him. "You couldn't have turned out to be a monster. That's not the way it works."  


Julian made a calming gesture. "That doesn't matter. What matters is, I trusted you as my friends as well as bad-ass monster killers that if I ended up bringing more harm than good to the world you would stop me. Everyone from the School of the Wolf I've ever met, as well as the Griffin School for that matter, have been heroes who try to save innocent people."  


"All five of us?" Lambert snorted derisively, but it was mostly a deflection. Julian ignored it.  


"Vesemir managed to help you all become the good guys. You, Geralt, Eskel, and Coën have remained the good guys. Is he truly the worst person to resurrect the Guild of Witchers when the population of monsters is exploding?"  


Lambert had a lot of objections. They had tried several times before to convince Jaskier that they weren't heroes, but the bard had kept on insisting. He, in particular, wasn't a nice man-- even Geralt put up with more shit from common folk than Lambert did. Even Julian wouldn't be saved from leaving a trail of corpses slain by steel in his wake.  


"Who even says that I would care if monsters took over the damned world?" Lambert says. "Most of the population are selfish and small-minded fools."  


Julian had let his hand drop earlier but now he laughed and nudged Lambert with his shoulder. His laugh now wasn't a clear and joyful sound, but a harsh rasp over his damaged vocal cords that tended to make Lambert feel regret more than delight. He hoped that time would stop Julian's laughter from mostly being a reminder of what his human friend had gone through. "You would care. The very fact that you are afraid of your School's history repeating itself proves it."  


Lambert had to think about that. "Well, it's your School, too, wolf-pup," He forced himself to lighten up. "Or is that just a really good-looking cat you've got hanging around your neck?"  


"Fuck off, _Bert_ ," Julian said, stressing the horrible shortening of Lambert's name. "I think I've proven I have better taste in friends than Cats."  


Lambert hooked his arm around his neck and tackled Julian to the ground. "Shut yer trap, _Julie_ ," he said, deciding to fight Igni with Igni.

**Author's Note:**

> Are there hints of preslash or past G/J? I didn't intend there to be. I thought about some J/L happening, but poor Julian was dealing with enough. If anyone is interested in some Witcher!Julian romance, toss some ideas in the comments and give me something to work with.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
